


Received

by BeyondArkham



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Mentions of The Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondArkham/pseuds/BeyondArkham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was married to his work.</p><p>You were married to another man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Received

A cool breath relinquished the stress and tension you held in your muscles. It was not snowing in London but the temperature was still low enough to send a shiver through your spine. You liked it this way however as you made your journey to the house known as 221B Baker Street.  At the point where you were opposite the door your phone buzzed. 

 

 **Received: December** **29** **th** **|** **8:15. p.m.** _‘Make sure Mrs. Hudson does not hear you. -SH’_    
   
Looking to the upstairs window gave a view of the silhouette of the elusive Consulting Detective; Sherlock Holmes. You could feel the tension rise back up to your shoulders as you pushed forward to the black door. Ever so slowly moving it open you crept silently past it and up the stairs. A familiar fast heartbeat came to you as your whole body temperature soared.  

 

Crap.  

 

Before you entered to living space of the detective’s home you had to stop tell yourself to breathe deeply. Stopping there for longer than you expected lead to the afore mentioned detective taking a spot in front of you. His hand tilted you head upwards so you were forced to look him in the eye, his other rubbed circles on your shoulder.  “Breathe with me (Y/N),” he said in soft voice. 

 

While others would misconstrue it as a kind gesture intent on keeping up your well-being, you know better. Sherlock Holmes, quite possibly one of the brightest bulbs to ever shine, didn't do, nor cared for, human emotion. As you came to calm down you coughed out a scoffing laugh. He was merely leading you to state were you were useful to him. You looked to him as sign you were now okay and that he could get on with whatever he had summoned you for. 

 

Sherlock didn’t speak for next few moments and you wondered whether he had retreated into his mind palace. However, you saw that he, in fact, was not holed up in his head when you pushed his hand from your shoulder. If he would not initiate this meeting, then you would. Shaking your head, you gave him a desperate look.  

 

“Why?” 

 

For a fleeting moment you swore you saw a saddening emotion on his face; regret, depression or perhaps something else. Turning he scratched the back of his head and stretched his limbs. “Oh I don’t know I mean why does anyone _do_ anything,” he turned in a rant, “If the general consensus is that it’s all going to end one day then why do the human race bother with even waking up the morning.” You fidgeted nervously as he began a question and answers session with himself.  

 

“Instinct? No, no. They were lost when we decided to invent cinema hot dogs.” 

 

“Then it maybe the promise of something better afterwards? The unknown is too great for that one to be true. So then what is it that drives any person to do _anything_?”  

 

Hands pushed in a prayer like position under his head Sherlock paced his flat for an answer. In an instant he paused and fell into his chair. “When I had my first case with John I had a run in with a very interesting man, a taxi driver no less. For weeks he’s been driving, quite literally, people to suicide, with the power of just his own speech. After deducing him I found that the predominant force behind him was his children. The love for his children and the want to better life after he had passed had made him into a murderer. He played it off that he was angry, bitter that he’d been cursed with a terminal disorder.” 

 

Another moment of silence passed when you spoke up in a low voice, “And what does that have to do with what’s going on now Sherlock?” He glanced at you and then dropped his gaze to the floor, as if he was unsure of his next few sentences. Surely enough however, he spoke up, “A phrase I said to him really jumps to mind at this moment; _‘Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator’._ ”  

 

You caught a breath in your throat as you clenched your fists. Your words caught for several seconds before they were thrown from your mouth, “But love doesn’t motivate you, does it?  Not the mighty Consulting Detective, no. All you care about is cheap thrills, and being the last man standing. You don’t care about what’s left in the wake of your adventures, do you?!” With high emotion the urge to cry was strong, but you never let him know that he was watching you every move, trying to deduct his next move. “Four years ago you told me you were married to your work. Two years after that you lead to believe that you had died. I mourned you Sherlock and for a long time I had shut myself off from the world. My own husband, couldn’t even pull me out of that. I had to get myself out my burrow of sadness. And you know what? I did, without you. So what makes you think I want anything to do with you let alone anything relating to the text you sent me?” 

 

For once in his life Sherlock was at a loss for words. The quick text he had sent you earlier was not meant to distress you in anyway, nor was a cheap trick to get you to play on his side. It was truly how he felt and it had taken a while to come to the conclusion he did. He noted the fact that the timing was impeccably poor, but the urge, the want, for you was too strong.  

 

You looked down and scoffed again, “You are married to your work and I am married to my husband and that is always the way it’s going to be Sherlock Holmes.” The end of the sentence also saw the end of your resolve. Tears feel from your eyes and you didn’t bother hiding it. Let him see the turmoil he was putting you through he deserved it. You meant, that is if he even cared, which you doubted very much.  

 

The detective noticed that you’d been playing with your wedding band every few moments. And in a spilt second he came to you with his own hand placed over it. You looked though your eyelashes at him and saw the true expression of sorrow on his face. Your mind flip-flopped into believing his face or simply mocking it up to good acting skills. Slowly he slid the ring of your hand and threw it onto his coffee table. “You may believe that I can’t process any sort of feeling but since meeting you and John I may have developed a weakness for people like you two and I simply cannot bare the thought of being without the both of you. In your case I seemed to have developed romantic feeling and I could not have gone any longer without at the very least letting them be known. You invade my every move and thought and I had to do SOMETHING!” Sherlock broke his hold on you as he turned around frustrated and distraught. In this ten minutes you had seen more emotion from him than you’d even seen in the last four years. 

 

Your head swam in the idea of you and Sherlock before mentally shutting them down. Had it been four years ago you’d right now be having a very different meeting. Perhaps even a happy one. Four years on, however, you’re in an internal battle with yourself.  

 

Sherlock turned quite instantly yet again and grabbed both sides of your face, “Please (Y/N) I am begging you.”   
   
That is what broke you completely Sherlock Holmes never begged and certainly not for a person. 

 

 

 **Received** **:** **December 29** **th** **|** **2:34.p.m:** _‘I love you.’ - SH_


End file.
